The Phonecall
by TotallyPixelated
Summary: John rings Sherlock on the sixth month anniversery of his death. Everything progresses from this moment.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

"This is the voicemail of _Sherlock Holmes_ please leave a message after the tone, they will get back to you as soon as they can"

"That's the problem though Sherlock isn't it. You aren't going to get back to me. You can't get back to me. For some crazy reason I thought ringing you would help. I thought just hearing those two seconds of your voice would help make it better. That you were still here. That someday I'm going to come home and I'll hear the word 'bored' and then gunshots. I think even Mrs Hudson misses that. It feels so… Empty without you. You're an absolute pillock, but I miss you. You were my best friend Sherlock. You knew everything about me. Admittedly that's because you deduced it. But that's beside the point, I trusted you. And then I lost you. What were you thinking Sherlock? Were you thinking? It must've been the first time in your life you brilliant insane brainiac.

Life is different without you Sherlock. It's weird. It's wrong. I went back to my therapist, she's been great. Not much use, but still, she's been great. I saw Harry too. She's… better. Drinking less, she's been great too. She thinks you were my boyfriend, I told her not to be ridiculous. We get along better now, not brilliantly but better. It's funny how death brings people together. It's a shame too though.

Your room hasn't been touched since you left us Sherlock. To be honest I don't want to go in there, I'm half terrified I'm going to find some horrible left over body of yours and I don't want to see your things. I don't want to have to worry about throwing them out, I don't even want to think that everything in that room once belonged to you. You've left your finger prints everywhere, for a man who worked on crime scenes all his life I would've thought you'd known better.

I remember the first time I met you Sherlock, you amazed me. And poor Molly, even I could tell she had a hopeless crush on you. It's funny really, the man who could analyse everyone around him had no idea his co-worker was crushing on him.

This is ridiculous, I'm hanging up. You can't hear me. You aren't coming back. It's, it's just so hard to accept. Six months is a long time Sherlock and we've all been lost without you. But you were my friend and I will always, always believe in you."

John Watson stood for a few seconds, phone in hand and then finally had the courage to hang up. He'd let go of all those last words he wanted Sherlock to hear. For days, weeks and month they'd been bubbling up, threatening to explode out of him at any moment. But he hadn't been able to let go. He'd tried so hard to keep it together but on the six month anniversary of Sherlock's death he'd decided to let his barriers down. He hadn't cried at the funeral, instead he'd saved it up until this very moment when he allowed himself to cry freely.

Sherlock of course had heard all of this. Up in Scotland he'd been staying, waiting, planning. But when he heard his best friend crying and talking to a man who supposedly no longer existed. This wasn't the first time John had tried to contact Sherlock almost everyday texts set his phone off, this was, however, the first time John had rung. And it would be the last time his messages were ignored.


	2. Chapter 2

Three knocks sounded on the door. Three quick sharp knocks. John stirred from the sofa, he'd fallen asleep there the night before watching some rubbish CSI type show. He quickly stood up and threw on his dressing gown, unsure of what anyone would want this early in the morning. Groggily he made his way down stairs and opened the door.

"John I-" The consulting detective suddenly received a blow to the chin.

"You complete and utter, ARGH! I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD. YOU JUMPED SHERLOCK. You jumped…" John's voice broke. Sherlock realised (for the first time in his life) that being clever was not going to go down well.

"John, I had too, Moriaty still had men looking for me. I had to leave for your safety. And then I heard the message last night. That brilliant beautiful message. You are my best friend John, I had to come back" John waited for Sherlock to finish, and hit him again, this time on the ribs, and not as hard.

"You should come in."

As they entered the flat Sherlock marvelled at how little it had changed.

"You kept my skull" It wasn't a question, merely an observation. John muttered something that sounded like didn't want to touch it and drifted out of the room to make coffee.

Sherlock drifted around the flat, picking things up and putting them down again. Making the odd deduction. John hadn't had a girlfriend in the six months he'd been away. Mrs Hudson had been cleaning the flat even though she was not their house keeper. John hadn't updated his blog since the week after his death. John's limp had returned for a short period of time. To the untrained eye the flat was pretty much the same but to Sherlock everything had changed. The whole room was annotated with differences. Maybe he shouldn't have come back. No, he'd heard that message, John wanted him back, it had sounded like John needed him back.

"Sherlock?" John's voice interrupted his thoughts and he silently took the cup from him. "Are you ok? You did fake your own death," John's voice filled the room. Sherlock had missed company.

"Everything is different."

"You're over analysing."

"I never over analyse," Silence filled the room once more. Sherlock took a sip of coffee. "John, what is this?"

"Coffee."

"I would hardly call that coffee."

"What would you call it then?"

"Disgusting."

"I suppose I'm just out of practise."

_Why can't I think of anything to say. He's right, everything is different. _Sherlock caught John thinking it for just a second.

"John are you ok?"

"I don't know."

"That's a no then. John, I came back was this not what you wanted? Stop sulking."

"Sherlock, sulking is when you wear your bed sheet to Buckingham palace." Sherlock smirked at John's response, and out of the corner of his eye he saw John smirking too. Finally, a breakthrough.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been two weeks since Sherlock had returned. The awkwardness had evaporated slowly and the two flat mates were getting along again. It was a Monday morning and after the horrendous nightmare that had woken him John could not stay in bed any longer and so decided to go for a walk in order to clear his head. He got dressed, walked into the kitchen in order to make tea and was surprised to find Sherlock in a dressing gown staring down his microscope.

"Going somewhere?" Sherlock asked pleasantly without looking up.

"Walk," John said forgetting the tea and pulling on his coat which he had left draped over a chair. "Why are you up so early, it's six in the morning"

"You're up."

"That's not an answer Sherlock, that's an observation. But if you must know I couldn't sleep."

"You could sleep. I heard your nightmares."

"I don't want to talk about it." John almost marched out of the flat in order to avoid talking about the strange and haunting dream which had terrified and confused him. He needed to get it straight in his head first.

The dream had started off… well? John had been kissing Sherlock and now that he looked back on the dream he seemed to have been enjoying it too. But he was straight. _**Straight**__**. **_But then, the dream had changed Sherlock had been shot. They'd been in Afghanistan together and Sherlock had been lying on the floor dying. John had been trying to help him, fix him, save him, but nothing he did helped. He'd watched his best friend fade away again.

He didn't know what it meant, did he like Sherlock? Stupid question, of course he liked Sherlock, he was his flat mate. But did he… well y'know Sherlock? Would everything change if he said something? Probably. Did he want to say something? Yes! NO! Maybe? Amongst so many questions he knew for certain that he could not face Sherlock leaving again.

Back at 221B Baker Street Sherlock could not concentrate. The microscope was abandoned on the table and slides lay discarded around it. Sherlock was pacing. Up and down and up and down. Damn his conscience! It didn't kick in often but every so often it would turn up and nag at him. He should've asked John about his nightmare. He should've stopped him going out. But he didn't. And he was worrying. Why was he worrying? The same reasons he came home. Why had he come home? He ignored the thought. There was no point going back to that. The last time he had thought about that he'd had to chain smoke 4 packs of cigarettes. John of course did not know about that. But if he thought about his motives, John soon would know about the habit, and possibly a few other things. Damn emotions.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N. Thank you to all you lovely people who have reviewed, I end up happy dancing every time anyone says anything about my writing. Also, Chloe do you know how much harder it is too write when I know one of my friends is reading my story? **

"Sherlock, have you been pacing again?" John had returned home from his walk (which had left him more confused than when he'd left) and had noticed a worn patch on the carpet.

"Pacing? Oh no John, I spilt acid on the carpet," Sherlock lied to avoid the inevitable discussion about feelings that would follow if he admitted to worrying. John sighed and sat down on the sofa.

"I hope you cleared it up. Mrs Hudson would murder you if you let her carpet disintegrate"

"She'd have to get up bloody early to murder me."

"Figure of speech Sherlock, figure of speech."

"Risky one to use in our line of business John."

"Our line of business? I thought I had to come as a replacement for the skull?"

"Don't be stupid John, you're my blogger, my partner."

"Partner? Don't let the people at the yard hear that Sherlock."

"Business partner John, business partner."

"I was joking Sherlock." Except John didn't think he was joking. The more he thought about it, the more it dawned on him, he loved Sherlock Holmes. The sociopath who wasn't good at emotions. Brilliant. Just Brilliant.

Sherlock had managed to conduct the entire conversation whilst peering down a microscope. Of course he wasn't actually looking at anything he was just avoiding eye contact. He was hoping John wouldn't suddenly develop amazing powers of deduction and notice that fact, thankfully John had gone to make a cup of tea. Sherlock needed to keep John distracted so he wouldn't think about his emotions.

"Any cases on your blog?"

"I haven't looked, but if there aren't any I might go and see Harry," Sherlock responded with some unintelligible response and continued to pretend to look down the microscope.


	5. Chapter 5

John was thankful there were no cases that day as he drove over to Harry's. He didn't think he'd be able to cope with having to work with Sherlock while his head was this messed up. Still he needed to put Sherlock out of his mind and go and congratulate Harry on being alcohol free for a month.

"HARRY, YOU IN?" John yelled through the letter box. He'd rung the bell several times with no answer.

"Coming John, I was in the shower. You are so bloody noisy do you know that?" John smiled at his sisters greeting. He was glad they were getting on better. The door swung open and before John knew it Harry had caught him in a huge hug.

"Get. Off. Now." John responded pulling away from his sister.

"Sorry John, it appears being alcohol free has done some odd things to me!" She laughed.

"That's no excuse to go drinking more!" John joked back smiling at the way his sister had changed.

"Anyway, come in, I can't leave you standing on the doorstep. And besides, I need your hand with something."

"Um ok?" John said with a puzzled expression on his face. He followed Harry through to her living room and sat down on the couch.

"John, I have some booze I need to get rid of."

"Pour it down the sink?"

"Well I was going to give it to you,"

"Harry you can't give me two whole bottles of wine."

"How about you drink some now?" She suggested, John considered it.

"Fine, but only a small glass." Harry smiled at his response and then proceeded to fill the wine glass she was holding almost to the brim.

"Harry! There is no way I can drink all that!"

"I've done it."

"That's not something to be proud of."

The next morning John found himself lying on his couch. But that didn't make sense, he'd been at Harry's and… and… he couldn't remember anything. He'd had wine though. Oh god how much wine had he drunk. His head was pounding.

"Sherlock?" He tried to call but it came out as more of a croak because his throat was so dry.

"Oh good you're awake."

"Sherlock, can you… Quieter. Less noise. My head"

"Take this." Sherlock roughly pushed a glass of water and a paracetamol tablet into John's hands. "Give me a shout when your head hurts less and you can hold a conversation."

John nodded as Sherlock strode out of the room towards his bedroom. Probably to do some hideous things with bits of bodies. It then occurred to John he had no clue how he'd gotten home last night or how he'd ended up on the sofa. Still someone had draped a blanket over him so it couldn't have been all that bad.

_How did I get home last night_- JW. John sent a quick text to Harry.

_I drove, you were out of it. Shouldn't have given you so much wine. Sorry._–H

_Thanks for the blanket._ –JW

_What blanket? _–H

_Never mind_ –JW

By this point John's head ache had faded. Gingerly he sat up and called out to Sherlock.

"Thanks for the blanket"

"No problem, you were quite… Interesting before you passed out."

That didn't sound good. John started to worry. What had his stupid drunk mouth said.

"Oh god what did I say?" He had to ask.

"Well apparently I'm very attractive" Sherlock had a very smug look on his face. This was not going well for John, not well at all.

"Anything else?" John asked weakly.

"Well you didn't say something, you err, well, err, could I just show you?" Sherlock looked nervous, uncomfortable and excited all at the same time. "Shut your eyes or something…" Sherlock instructed. By this point John was completely confused. But he was too hung over to argue and so obediently shut his eyes and waited. Almost instantly Sherlock's lips collided with his. Almost immediately John realised what this meant. He was no Sherlock but even he could tell his feeling weren't unrequited.

"I did that?"

"Well you were drunk so it wasn't quite as good but…"

"Sherlock?"

"Yes John?"

"Where does this leave us?"

"Partners."

"Oh."

"Not business partners John, the other kind."


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock's phone buzzed. Sherlock's phone was always buzzing. It was 7:30am. John just wanted to sleep. It was the only downside to sharing a bed with Sherlock. The weight on the left side of the bed lifted as Sherlock got up and John rolled over into the empty space.

It had been three weeks and the two men had settled into the new routine. They had told the… necessary people. Mrs Hudson had been thrilled, it had been the first time they'd seen her bring out the champagne other than at Christmas and new year. Mycroft knew. It was unlikely he was pleased but he was keeping quiet and putting up with it. Sherlock often joked that he was just jealous as the only thing that he loved was cake, and even that wasn't mutual!

"John, Lestrade has found a body, female, a woman called Alice Shuttleworth he said. Don't get up lie in a bit. You haven't been sleeping well. I'll be back later" John had heard Sherlock's instructions but decided to ignore them and get up anyway. He was just about to slide out of bed when Sherlock appeared in the doorway.

"No. Bed."

"But-"

"Bed. I'll be back soon. It sounds like an easy one, I'm fairly certain if the brother has an orange teapot it's him. If not then check the aunt for a crowbar and arrest the brother anyway, if the aunt doesn't have a crowbar, arrest her."

"You sound like a game of Cluedo."

"Don't. Compare. Me. To. That. Ridiculous. Game."

"Now, now Sherlock, just because you lost."

"I didn't lose, I was obviously right!"

"The victim was not murdered by Miss Scarlett who wanted to frame Colonel Mustard because she'd cheated on him with Professor Plum!"

"He was!"

John sighed and rolled onto his back in order to enjoy the disgruntled look on Sherlock's face. Sherlock smiled wandered over, planted a quick kiss on John's forehead and took off out the door. John smirked and rolled back onto his side, allowing himself to be engulfed in Sherlock's scent.

"Where's the boyfriend then freak?" Brilliant, a snarky Donovan. That was exactly what Sherlock wanted this morning.

"Where's the body?" He asked changing the subject.

"Over there, it was found in that skip. You know I'm surprised he agreed to go out with you freak. Did you threaten to make him your next experiment?" Donovan launched into hysterics at her own insult and walked away. Sherlock suppressed the urge to squash her head. He was not in the mood and began to wish he'd been selfish and dragged his favourite blogger along with him.

"Oh very original, body in a skip. Can't people be more imaginative?" Sherlock muttered to himself. "Arrest the brother."

"What?" Lestrade's head snapped up. Sherlock had only been there five minutes.

"Ms Shuttleworth here was well off, her brother is broke. She's left all her money to him in the will but won't give any to him now. Why? Because she was intending on running away to Spain. How do I know? Her passport is in her jacket pocket along with a Spanish phrase book. The cover is bent but only under the section 'help with tax forms'. So the brother invites her over, offers her tea, smacks her over the head with the teapot, which is orange, this knocks her out and she land on the glass coffee table breaking it. The table shatters and a piece of glass creates that deep cut on her neck. She dies from blood loss. Arrest the brother."

"But how did you know-"

"About the teapot? There are chips from it stuck in her hair." Sherlock enjoyed the look on their faces for a second then turned and went to hail a cab.


	7. Chapter 7

"It was the brother."

"That was quick."

"And you were meant to stay in bed."

"Eurgh," John turned back to his laptop.

"What is that?"

"Website."

"I would hardly call that a website, there isn't an analysis of tobacco ash anywhere!"

"No one but you wants to analyse tobacco ash Sherlock,"

"And it has a ridiculous name. 'Tumblr', it hasn't even got enough vowels!" Sherlock exclaimed in disgust.

"I accidently found it. I googled us and this came up."

"What is this 'ship' nonsense?"

"Fans, err, pair people together and write fan fiction about them."

"Who have they paired?"

"Us, that happens a lot, but there's you and Molly, me and Molly, you and Irene, you and Donovan-"

"Donovan and I?" Sherlock was appalled.

"It's only been done once. I read it, it was… Entertaining."

"John I can assure you now that the only romantic emotions I have are for you. " John smiled at his response, it was surprising how often Sherlock was accidently sweet.

"Did you know I'm not the only one who finds your long coat attractive?"

"Huh? What? No. I didn't even think you found it attractive, you always ridicule it." John blushed, he'd accidently revealed his actual opinion on the coat, Sherlock's ego was going to swell by about three sizes.

"Yes, there are whole blogs dedicated to it, and your hat."

"Not that bloody hat!"

"I was joking about the hat." John laughed. It was so easy to wind Sherlock up. He was glad they hadn't gone public yet, it seemed that thousands of teenage girls would either celebrate of have a complete fit.

"So Tumblr is where peoples social lives go to die?" Sherlock deduced.

"Why would you say that?"

"Well look at the amount of pictures! It would take a vast amount of time to accumulate that many photos of us, and they update every few minutes. Have you seen the amount of times the page has refreshed itself in the time we've been talking? It's done it at least ten times!"

"Mmmm," John wasn't paying much attention. He was wondering when his life had gotten so interesting. Just over a year and a half ago he'd told his psychiatrist that nothing interesting happened in his life.


	8. Chapter 8

Three knocks sounded on the door. Sherlock and John unknotted themselves from each other and switched off the TV Sherlock had been silently watching (for once), John hadn't been paying attention, he'd just wanted a cuddle.

"We should get that," John muttered, sad to be ending a romantic moment.

"Let Mrs Hudson get it."

"BOYS! I'm not your house keeper!" Mrs Hudson called up the stairs. John sighed and got up. Hoping this would be quick so he could return to Sherlock's arms. He returned a few minutes later with two adults, one male, one female. The female looked teary, John prayed Sherlock would be nice.

"What's happened to your daughter?" Sherlock asked. The woman erupted into tears.

"We never mentioned our-" The man had been completely thrown by Sherlock's greeting.

"Just carry on." John said, in a slightly more reassuring way.

"She's… erm… well we think she's run away." The father tried to explain further without upsetting his wife but unfortunately her sobs grew louder.

"You think she's run away. Boring." Sherlock's response could've been slightly more tactful. But this was Sherlock. He didn't _do _tactful.

"Wait she left this note." The man's voice became more urgent. Sherlock took the note.

_Dear Mom, Dad._

_I'm off to London. I need to find out the truth about Lou. I can't stand not knowing anymore. She wasn't just your daughter, she was my sister. It's not even that I'm too young. I'm 16. I deserve to know._

_Love you_

_Lex._

"You aren't American."

"No Mr Holmes we're not. Why is this relevant?"

"Your daughter, she's written Mom. M-O-M. but you aren't American. Why?"

"She was at boarding school there. We sent her there six months ago." The wife had stopped crying and had spoken for the first time.

"Why was she at boarding school? Surely the best place for her to be after the death of her sister would be with family." John wished that Sherlock wasn't giving out parenting advice but decided to keep quiet. The mother burst into tears again.

"I'll take the case." Sherlock announced. "Of course I will need contact details, and a surname."

"The mobile is 07798268683 and the surname is Richards."

"Brilliant." Sherlock clapped his hands together with his exclamation. "And finally, where did Lou die?"

"The Piccadilly line, between Barons Court and Gloucester road." The wife erupted into violent fits of tears when her husband spoke. John silently lead them out the door.

**A.N Yay a plotline finally! Also please don't call the phone number, I don't know who's it is and I don't think strangers will be impressed receiving lots of random calls. Thanks- R**


	9. Chapter 9

"You know, as crazy as this seems. I like this girl" Sherlock said to John as they walked hand in hand down the tube steps. Yes. Hand in hand. John was silently freaking out.

"Why? You've never met her and you normally hate kids."

"She's clever… And a bit like me I suppose, she wants to know what happened to her sister, she runs off to London to find out. She's clever." Sherlock repeated his original remark. The two men walked silently to the bottom of the steps.

"Oh and by the way I'm temporarily my brother." Sherlock mentioned this casually, completely baffling John. But before he had time to ask what was going on Sherlock had marched up to who appeared to be the man in charge.

"I need to look at your train tracks and your records and also all your CCTV from about six months ago."

"I'm sorry sir. We can't let just anybody look at those." Sherlock sighed at the man's response and flashed him an identity badge.

"Oh! Sorry Mr Holmes, here our CCTV tapes and what records would you like?"

"Suicide and deaths."

"Top left in the draws on your right. I'll get you a mug of tea shall I?"

"Coffee, dark, no sugar." Sherlock called after the nameless man.

"So you pick pocketed your brother?" John asked when he was certain no one else could hear them.

"He annoyed me. He wouldn't share his cake." John burst into a fit of giggles when he heard Sherlock's response.

"Do you want a hand?" John asked when he had stopped laughing.

"Actually, what I really want is a bloody good snog, but I can't ruin Mycroft's reputation like that."

"I think you have already."

"That's beside the point. AHA! Found the file. Let's go, oh and grab that tape. It's probably useful," Sherlock marched out the office catching John's hand as he left and pulling him out too.


	10. Chapter 10

"John, I feel… tired. I'm going to bed, we can work on the case tomorrow."

"Are you sure you're alright? You don't normally get tired Sherlock, especially if you have a case on."

"I'll be fine"

However the next morning it became very evident that Sherlock was sick. John was woken by a feeble poke in his side just before his alarm went off. When the alarm went off a few seconds later Sherlock responded by covering his ears with his hands and murmuring 'make it stop' weakly.

"Sherlock, you are staying in bed today. No case for you."

"But, I'll get bored."

"Then I'll have to make sure you don't. Hot Ribena or Lemsip?"

"What?"

"To drink idiot. I'm looking after you!"

"I don't need looking after, I'm not that sick."

"Liar. You just want to play around with the case."

"Lemsip." Sherlock had apparently given in to John. However when John returned a few minutes later Sherlock was attempting to get up.

"Back in bed. Now."

"My head hurts."

"You got up too quickly drink this." Sherlock took the cup from John and allowed him to help prop him up. He was a little confused when John began to leave.

"Wait! You're meant to be keeping me entertained!"

"Well I was going to wheel the T.V in so we could watch the security tapes but if you want me to stay…" John said with a grin on his face.

"Tapes, please!" John laughed at his insane flatmate and went to get the television.

A few hours of boring tape later the boys finally found what they were looking for. It was Half five, one of the busiest points of the day. Louisa (or 'Lou') was sat on one of the seats in the carriage. When the tube stopped at a platform the carriage emptied until there were four people left. Louisa, two men and one woman. The train then pulled forward and Louisa stood up (probably to get off at the next stop) suddenly the woman makes a quick jerky movement and Louisa collapses. The other people in the carriage rush to her side.

**A nice little cliff-hanger for you all, the deductions are coming soon **


	11. Chapter 11

"It's the blonde man."

"But the woman, she moved!"

"Because he poked her, he was trying to frame her," Sherlock wound the tape back a bit. "See?"

"He could've just nudged her."

"No he begins to move to Louisa's side just before she collapses. He knows exactly when she's going to die. Look he keeps checking his watch."

"That doesn't explain how he kills her."

"Rewind five minutes." John picked up the remote and rewound the footage. He then sat patiently for Sherlock to point out the key detail he had missed.

"There, he kicks her bag, her water falls out and he switches it with another bottle. Probably poisoned."

The two men sit in silence for a moment before John speaks quietly.

"Sherlock, did they get the right man?"

**Oh I just love cliff-hangers****, unless of course its reichenbach… Anyway, before you all get hit with feels, I just wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone for reviewing and reading. It's always nice to know people like my writing **** -R**


	12. Chapter 12

Sherlock immediately wanted to get to Scotland Yard to investigate, it took John a long time to convince Sherlock that it would be fine to go tomorrow and that he really needed to stay in bed.

"But John, I want to go and catch murderers." Sherlock whined.

"Tomorrow I promise."

"I hate being sick."

"I know, we all do. Just sleep." John began to fiddle with Sherlock's curls and watched him slowly fall asleep.

X

The next morning Sherlock leaped out of bed like an excited child at Christmas.

"John, get up, we've got a murder to investigate!" Sherlock put his face very close to John's as he said this. John had been woken by the racket coming from behind him and rolled over.

"Sherlock! You made me jump."

"Nice to see you think I'm attractive." Sherlock retorted pretending to sulk.

"Of course I think your attractive." John got up pecked Sherlock on the cheek and slipped out of the room in order to get the first shower.

X

John had been completely rushed out the door by Sherlock and was craving a decent breakfast.

"Sherlock can we stop somewhere I'm starving. I know you don't get hungry but I do."

"John there is nowhere to stop. Who does breakfast in London?" At this response John sighed. He often forgot that Sherlock was often unfamiliar with chain companies as he never really went out enough to investigate them.

"There's a Costa around the corner, I can get food and you can people watch."

"Costa?" Sherlock rolled the word around in his mouth not quite sure what to make of it.

"Yes. The do breakfasts. Now come on."

X

John was irritated to find that Costa Coffee didn't do toast and jam so instead sat picking at a blueberry muffin whilst listening to Sherlock make deductions about everyone in the room.

"And that one there, she's leaving a man at the altar. He's got an obvious crush on the woman at the till. Look how he's flirting with her over a Styrofoam coffee cup! Some people-"

"Sherlock, shouldn't we be going?"

"Yes! LETS INVESTIGATE OUR MURDER!" Sherlock was a bit too excited and therefore shouted his remark a little too loudly. The entire room went silent.

"And I we should start making a move now." John muttered and dragged Sherlock out of the café.

X

"Lestrade's not going to be happy."

"He's never happy."

"You are breaking into his office Sherlock, it is a bit of an invasion of privacy."

"He has potentially got the wrong murder victim John!"

"He is the police Sherlock."

"Yes but they can't even solve a bloody break in without me!"

"Modest."

"Well he can't do this either." Sherlock slipped a piece of paper down the side of the door and it clicked open.

"Well I can't say I'm not impressed." John smiled and followed Sherlock through the door.

Sherlock began methodically rooting through draws and filing cabinets.

"Sherlock, what are we looking for?"

"John, be quiet I'm looking." Sherlock snapped

"Sherlock!" The ransacking stopped.

"Oh." Sherlock realised what he'd said. The room went quiet. "I'm sorry. It just… I just-"

"Got caught up in it." John said flatly.

"Yes."

"John, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Sherlock turned to face John as he said this. "I swear I will never ever do that again." He reached down and embraced John trying to convey the fact that he did not and would not ever let him go. And that was how Lestrade caught the two men snogging in his office.


	13. Chapter 13

"What the bloody hell were you two doing in my office?" Needless to say Lestrade was not impressed. John coughed and exchanged a look with Sherlock. The two men erupted into a fit of giggles.

"I'm glad to see you're both as immature as each other," Lestrade retorted "now what the hell were you doing in my office.

"Searching." Sherlock's voice was completely innocent.

"For?"

"The file on the murder of Louisa Richards."

"We sorted that six months ago."

"Who did you arrest?"

"A woman called Joan Adams."

"You caught the wrong person."

"What?" Lestrade was furious that Sherlock was challenging him. However Sherlock's direction of thought had changed.

"Alexa."

"No Sherlock, I'm John remember."

"John if the killers on the loose-"

"Oh my god." The penny dropped.

"We have to find her."


	14. Chapter 14

**You have no idea how much googling I had to do for this chapter. Also like with the phone number I don't know who's address it is so don't go knocking on it! -R**

"I'm sorry, find who? Who is this 'Alexa'?" Lestrade was trying not to explode. First Sherlock had the nerve to break into his office. Then he starts snogging John and finally he tells him that he's caught the wrong bloody murderer.

"We took on a case. Alexa is Louisa Richards' sister. She's run away from her boarding school in America in order to find out more about her sister's death. If you've got the wrong person then the killer is still at large and a possible danger to Alexa." John explained quickly. He knew Sherlock would be far too ready to be condescending if he got half a chance.

"What kind of poison was it?" Sherlock was sick of talking and wanted to get the case done.

"Cyanide."

"Nasty way to go." John commented.

"Lestrade can you look for anywhere that might've sold cyanide to a blonde man, about 40 years old, 5,11 maybe-"

"Sherlock why do you need that? The man's name is Jacob Harris." Lestrade interrupted Sherlock's instructions.

"Do you have an address?" Sherlock was refusing to be thrown off by Lestrade's remark.

"17 Stanhope Mews West. It's very near to Gloucester Road Station."

"How convenient. Come on John." Sherlock strode out the room pulling John behind him.


	15. Chapter 15

**Because I can't remember what this was originally rated as I'm giving you a language warning. It is however one word so I hope you don't mind too much **

John hailed a cab. He knew Sherlock hated the tube. Probably messed up his ludicrous 'mind palace' or something ridiculous. Still he didn't mind, the cab was quieter and cooler. There was, of course, the extra benefit, that taxi drivers don't stare and generally ignore two men holding hands and frequently exchanging little smiles.

The two men climbed out of the taxi outside Gloucester station. Sherlock immediately turned his collar up.

"Seriously? We're off to bust a murderer and you're turning your coat collar up to look cool." John said whilst rolling his eyes.

"It's cold."

"It is not."

"That's because you have more walking to do."

"Leave my height out of this!" John exclaimed, seconds before reaching the house of Jacob Harris. "Are we knocking or breaking in."

"Knocking I think." Sherlock said, banging on the door as he spoke. The man from the CCTV footage opened the door. "Jacob Harris?"

"Yes?"

"Good you're under arrest."

"What?"

"For the murder of Louisa Richards. Oh and we need to search your house."

"Shit."

"Oh probably," John said pushing past him. "Where's Lestrade?"

"Coming," Sherlock said while pushing Harris into an arm lock.

"Brilliant. I'll start the search. Unless you'd like to tell me the whereabouts of Alexa Richards."

"I suggest you tell him" Sherlock said, slowly twisting Harris' wrist.

"Cupboard!" He gasped. "Under the stairs."

John strode through the house. He stood by the cupboard door slightly worried about opening it. He didn't want Alexa to be dead, and he was praying she was ok. He turned the handle, it clicked, and swung open. A terrified teenage girl was tied to a chair and whimpered as John approached.

"I'm from the police. Technically. Are you hurt, I'm a doctor." He moved towards he slowly and began to untie her gag. "Shush it's ok, I'm undoing the rope." The moment the girls hands were free she slid off the chair, balled herself up into a foetal position and started sobbing hysterically. John immediately went to comfort her.

"John, Lestrade's here. Have you found her?" Sherlock's voice echoed through the halls.

"Yes, she's very shaken up. Be nice." John called back, seconds after Sherlock appeared in the doorway.

"Let's get her to Lestrade."

X

Back at 221B John sat on the couch mulling over the case.

"I think that was by far our worst one."

"Really?"

"We don't really deal with children, and she looked so scared."

"John are you ok?"

"I'm fine."

"No you aren't. Come here." Sherlock place an arm around John and encouraged him to lean into him. Slowly John relaxed.

"I don't want another case with children again Sherlock. I don't care about how exciting it is. I don't want to be involved understood?"

"Understood."


	16. Chapter 16

**This was written ridiculously late at night. It's the first piece of writing I feel completely proud of. In a way I'm not sure it fits here but it's going in anyway. So deal with it ;) -R**

Guns fired. The dead lay on the floor, the injured lay on top ready to become the next rotting carpet. They groaned unidentifiable words, but John knew the meaning. They needed him, but he couldn't move his feet refused to obey him. The scene is horrific, John fights the urge to collapse, give up, break down. And then a gun fires. A far more personal bullet flies through the air, John never sees it, but he feels it. It hits his shoulder and John feels the entirety of his body turn with the power of it. Then the warm sticky feeling of blood seeping down his back. The shouts of the injured grow louder and more recognisable to John. Repeated over and over, calling him.

And then he wakes in Sherlock's arms. His eyes spring open, he gasps for air and falls apart. At least, that's how it looks to Sherlock. The nightmare stops for John, but it is just starting for Sherlock. Slowly John curls into a ball and sobs. Terrified. Emotional. Sherlock hates it when this happens. He feels worthless. His company is useless. Slowly he curls his body around John in an effort to comfort him.

"What was it?"

"I can't Sherlock, it was too much." From somewhere deep within the ball John's voice escapes. He holds back a sob. His whole body convulses.

"John, I'm getting my violin, but if you want me to stay I won't get it yet." He waits for a response. Nothing. Sherlock unwinds himself from John, fetches the instrument and plays. Notes spill from the once quiet strings. It's not a song John is familiar with. It appears Sherlock has composed it himself. And then, a snipped John recognises. Sherlock had been stood by the window in the front room playing the same four bars to himself repeatedly when John had come home from work one day but had instantly stopped the moment John had entered the room. John uncurls himself and watches his beautiful best friend play in the soft light creeping through the curtains.

"What is it called?"

"What?"

"The piece."

"John."

"Yes?"

"No, that's the name," Sherlock puts down the violin and returns to John's side. "Do you want me to play something else?"

"I'm ok. That song is beautiful."

"I wrote it for you. I was saving it for a birthday but I felt this was the best time to play it."

John is overwhelmed and the only thing he can think to do is kiss Sherlock. Repeatedly. Relentlessly. Somehow he had to say thank you. Thank you for holding him. Thank you for loving him. Thank you for coming back. So many unspoken thank yous. So many things he'd needed but never asked for.

"John stop." Sherlock protests but John hears the smile in his voice and carries on anyway. In the end lips collide and Sherlock and John forget everything in comforting lazy kisses.

The next morning Sherlock wakes early. He always does. But unlike the norm, he reaches for pen and paper and writes.

_I never knew what love was. And there isn't a single scientific way I could use to determine if this is it or not. But I hope that is love is anything, if it exists, that this is it. That it is kissing you at ridiculous hours of the night, playing violin in the light of the moon for you and hearing your breath long into the night when I can't sleep._

Sherlock leaves the note at that. He wants John to hear the final, unwritten line. He goes to wait patiently in the kitchen until John awakes. That's when he'll tell him. Those three, singular syllable words. I love you.


	17. Chapter 17

**I think in places this might be a little out of character but I really wanted to write this -R**

Weeks had passed since that nightmare. It was ever nearing John's birthday and while Sherlock hated his own birthday he was far too over excited about John's. Sherlock had been scurrying about for weeks plotting. He was constantly on his phone texting and calling Mycroft. Probably trying to ask favours of him. The whole thing made John nervous. He didn't want anything huge just a nice night in with Sherlock.

"Sherlock, why can you be excited about my birthday and I can't be excited about yours? It doesn't see fair."

"Life isn't fair John."

"That's not an answer you pain in the arse." John retorted fed up with all the secrecy.

"I promise John, you'll like it. I know enough about you to know you'll like it."

"You haven't been deducing me again have you?"

"Actually no. I just know you that well," Sherlock says this with the biggest grin on his face. "Now stop worrying about your birthday!"

X

John woke up on the morning of his birthday to find that Sherlock was not in bed. Unimpressed he checked his texts.

_Happy Birthday brother, I'll drop your prezzie round tomorrow. – Harry x _

_Happy Birthday From Molly _

_Have a good day mate. Don't let Sherlock drag you out on any cases – Greg_

_When you wake up let me know- SH_

John rolled his eyes and pinged a quick text to Sherlock.

_I'm awake, get back here now. –J_

Almost instantly Sherlock burst through the bedroom door with breakfast on a tray.

"You cooked? Oh Jesus, is the kitchen in one piece?"

"Yes and yes."

"Sure? Because I'm not going to be impressed if you're lying."

"It's fine. Stop panicking. Eat." Sherlock picked up a slice of toast and made aeroplane noises as he 'flew' it towards John's mouth. John ducked out the way and planted a kiss on Sherlock's lips instead. He then took the toast from Sherlock and chewed on it slowly.

"It's not burnt."

"No, why would I burn it?"

"You like burning things."

"But this is for you." Sherlock took a sip from the mug of tea on the tray.

"Was that not for me too?"

"It was, but I fancied a mug so…"

"It's my birthday!"

"Speaking of which there are presents in the living room for you." Sherlock announced and swept out the door. John sighed but finished eating and got dressed. Sherlock had clearly spent a lot of time planning this and he wasn't going to ruin it.

X

"Which do you want to open first?"

"I don't know, just give me one."

"Mrs Hudson dropped this off earlier." Sherlock handed John a slightly floppy feeling parcel. John unwrapped it slowly. A soft cream jumper slid out.

"Next one!" Sherlock threw another package into his hands.

"I should really thank Mrs Hudson."

"In a bit open this!"

"Why are you so excited about my birthday?"

"I'm just hoping that the quicker we get all these… Mediocre bits out of the way we can get to the good bit." Sherlock almost gives the game away at that point but stops himself. John obliges and opens the present, a box of chocolates from Molly.

"Nice of her to remember."

"Open this one, it's from Mycroft. I warn you it's expensive."

"You know what it is?"

"Of course I do." John rolls his eyes. Sherlock is just showing off. He unwraps the present. A very large bottle of expensive champagne.

"We'll have to open this later," John says with a grin. "Nothing from you?"

"Not yet," Sherlock says smirking. "Go thank Mrs Hudson, I believe you wanted to do that a minute ago."

"Yes I will."

X

John ambled down the stairs. Mrs Hudson had been lovely, said she was going to bake a cake or something for him. John wasn't really paying attention, he wanted to know what Sherlock's present was.

He was about to enter the flat, had his hand on the door knob and was twisting it. But there was a shout.

"John can you wait outside for 0.4257 milliseconds." Trust Sherlock to be so precise.

"Everything ok?"

"Yes, come in!" Sherlock swung the door open and ushered John in, making sure to cover his eyes.

"Is this necessary?"

"Yes, I want you to listen. You'll listen better if you can't see and I want you to hear all of this." Sherlock was stood directly behind John and caught him when he jumped because the music started. Beautiful soaring notes and John knew them all already he'd heard them many times after that night._ I was saving it for a birthday but I felt this was the best time to play it._ It wasn't Sherlock playing, there was more than one instrument. Four. There were four. John ducked out of Sherlock's arms and saw the string quartet in his living room. John placed a quick kiss on Sherlock's lips when the music ended.

"That was incredible thank you."

"That's not all I got you," Sherlock slipped an envelope into John's hand. "Open it." Sherlock's breath was warm on John's ear. John slid his thumb under the envelope and ripped it open. He pulled out two thin slips of paper. Airline tickets. Paris.

"You're taking me to Paris?"

"Next week, I know it's short notice but-"

"Come here." John cut off Sherlock and kissed him. It wasn't however a short chaste kiss it was a deep longing kiss that bowled Sherlock over causing him to land on the couch. Thankfully the quartet had left and Sherlock and John were left to enjoy the rest of John's birthday alone.


	18. Chapter 18

**I realise I've been rubbish recently, sorry. So I wrote you a nice long chapter to make up for it. Love me again? Please? Anyways, I switched tenses halfway through this and had to go back and change a lot, if I've accidently missed anything sorry for the confusion. Hope you enjoy! -R**

"Sherlock we're going to be late," John yelled up the stairs, "I am not missing this plane for anything!"

"Coming John," Sherlock yelled back, "I just thought I'd forgotten something!"

"Now is not a good moment Sherlock, your brother has already sent the blasted limo. It's waiting outside." John shouted heaving his luggage down the steps and out of 221B. He had tickets to go to Paris and he was not missing out on this holiday. A few seconds later Sherlock followed with a second bag, shouting up to let Mrs Hudson they were leaving. John climbed into the ridiculous car and wondered why Mycroft couldn't just send a normal cab, but then again being slightly flamboyant seemed to run in the family. John had to stifle a laugh when Sherlock got in though. He was too tall and had to organise and co-ordinate every limb so he didn't bang his head on the door.

"So being short has its advantages," John said innocently but allowing a smirk to play across his lips.

"Oh shush John." Sherlock said bring his arm up to put it around John's shoulders. They sat there in complete contented silence, enjoying the sounds of the others breath when Sherlock noticed the bottle of champagne.

"You like this stuff don't you John?" He said gesturing to the unopened bottle in front of them.

"Yes, do you want me to open it?" John asked.

"No it's fine. I've got it. For at least the last seven years Mother has thrown dinner parties at Christmas and New Year, I've always been expected to go and have therefore gotten quite used to opening the bottles." Sherlock said reaching for the bottle and placing his thumb under the cork. He pressed gently and the cork popped out allowing a stream of liquid to flow down the side.

"A glass John, quickly." He exclaimed, trying to prevent the bubbling liquid from spilling all over the car.

"I thought you were good at this?" John asked smugly handing Sherlock a glass.

"Oh get lost." Sherlock said jokingly elbowing John gently. John grinned and sipped from the glass enjoying the obscure sensation of the bubbles flowing across his tongue that only champagne can achieve.

When they finally get to the airport they have a photo in front of the limo. It's taken on a camera phone so the quality is terrible and Sherlock is midway through a sentence with John looking up at him listening intently. Somehow though, the photo finds its way into a frame on their bedside table. It's one of their favourite pictures together. It isn't posed and neither are smiling properly, but it depicts them both in a highly accurate way that is only achievable in photos when no-one is ready.

Somehow they managed to check in and get through customs without too many problems ("Sherlock, tell me you didn't put human body parts in your hand luggage,") and soon they find themselves sat on the plane. In first class, which John feels to be a little pointless as it isn't a long flight; however he is glad to be away from the noise of economy class and relaxes into his chair.

"John, I don't feel well." It was seconds into take-off and Sherlock was deathly pale. There is a slight moment of turbulence which caused Sherlock to cling very tightly onto John.

"Sherlock, are you afraid of flying?"

"Just take-off and landing. They are the bits that are most likely to go wrong."

"It's fine; they don't let idiots like Anderson fly planes Sherlock." John said trying to reassure him. Slowly Sherlock's grip loosened.

The rest of the flight passed uneventfully and soon they hit the tarmac on the other side of the Channel. There was a slight moment going through customs when Sherlock nearly got them in trouble ("Anything to declare?" "Yes your wife is having an affair and-" "Shut up Sherlock!") But other than that everything was vaguely sane (or as sane as anything gets around Sherlock). And soon they two men found themselves checking into the posh suite in an even more posh 5 star hotel.

John's immediate reaction is to flop onto the bed. He had gotten up early and travelling always takes it out of him. He is, however surprised to find himself sinking ridiculously deep into the mattress. His eyes open for a second in surprise before he relaxes and allows the bed to partially swallow him.

"Sherlock. We need a bed like this." He stated half yawning.

"We'll see John, we'll see." Sherlock responded by lying down beside him and shutting his eyes too. The two men lay in silence and eventually their hands joined although neither of them noticed the movement. John begins to drift off, thinking for a second he might actually get a bit of sleep before supper, but of course Sherlock has a 'bright' idea.

"Let's go do things John!" He shouted leaping off the bed slightly over excitedly.

"Such as?" John said, his voice less enthusiastic.

"Oh I don't know, we could walk. Yes! We should just walk. We've got an hour till they start serving supper. We should just stroll through Paris." John wasn't entirely sure what's gotten into Sherlock. He was never normally content with just walking through places, he normally wanted some kind of structure, however John wasn't complaining.

"Ok Sherlock," He sighed. "Let's go walk aimlessly around Paris at night!" He declared grabbing his coat and pulling Sherlock out the door.


	19. Chapter 19

The evening was warm and John was completely content with just roaming the streets of Paris with Sherlock. He didn't mind if they never said a word to each other just as long as their hands were clasped together and the sound of untranslatable French babble was in their ears. At some point they found themselves at the foot of the Eiffel tower staring up at the beautifully fashioned iron structure that was bathed in the soft light of decorative bulbs which illuminated the tower and caused it to stand out against the inky blue sky.

"It's gorgeous isn't it?" John said admiring the way in which the metal contrasted against the night.

"A little cliché though don't you think?" Sherlock murmured following John's gaze up to the sky.

"So was taking me to Paris but you still did it, besides the things that are cliché are cliché for a reason."

"Want to carry on walking?" Sherlock asked beginning to drag John off again.

"Looks like I don't have a choice," John laughed following him. The walked a few steps along the road before coming to a fountain. "It's beautiful," John smiled, admiring the way the water lapped against the edge.

"The Trocadero Fountains, yes, they are lovely," Sherlock smiled, but he had a look in his eye, like he was planning something.

"What are you thinking?" John asked, he'd noticed the look.

"Oh, nothing," Sherlock smiled as he bought his arm around John's shoulders. "Hotel?"

"Yes."


	20. Chapter 20

A/N I'm incredibly sorry about how late this is. In order to make you all love me again I wrote you a sickly sweet chapter full of lovely lovely fluff. John woke the next morning to Sherlock placing little kisses over his face. "Tickles," John mumbled, gently pushing Sherlock away. "Tough," Sherlock replied, placing an extra slobbery kiss on John's forehead. " I hate you," "After last night we both know that is not the case," Sherlock replied getting out of bed, pulling the covers off John as he went. "Sherlock," John whined, still half asleep, closing his eyes and trying to get back to sleep. "Up." Sherlock's voice suddenly materialised by John's ear before Sherlock lent down and pressed a single kiss below John's earlobe. "That's nice," John murmured, rolling onto his back to face Sherlock. "Up you get love." "Don' wanna." "I've got a nice day planned for you." "I've got a better idea," "I'm sure you do. You can show me tonight." "Spoilsport," "And don't you forget it," Sherlock replied, helping to haul John out of bed. X "So where are we going?" John asked attempting to move Sherlock's hands away from his eyes. "You'll see, watch out here, there's a step." Tentatively John shuffled his foot out, feeling for the dip in the floor. "It's moving!" "Escalators." Sherlock replied helping John find the bannister. "We're going underground?" "That's a secret." Sherlock replied, "Step off in 3, 2, 1, now." John stumbled off and clung onto Sherlock for support. "Can I open my eyes yet?" "No" "What about now?" "Still no." "Now?" "No." Sherlock sighed, John continued walking in silence for a second. "It's gone all quiet. We aren't doing anything illegal are we?" John asked, slightly nervous. "No, no. Don't panic. You can open your eyes now." Sherlock chuckled. John blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the light. "Is that the Mona Lisa two metres in front of me?" John asked slightly surprised. "It appears my brother is occasionally generous." Sherlock replied nonchalantly. "Jesus that's amazing. It's normally impossible to get this close. " John grinned, "Was this part of my birthday present?" "Mmm," Sherlock hummed wrapping his arms around John's waist. "I'm going to owe you forever." "I'll think of a good way for you to repay me." Sherlock chuckled turning his head to kiss John's cheek. "Shall we carry on walking around? It'll be busy but I think you'll enjoy it." John gave a little nod. "First can I have a picture of you in front?" Sherlock rolled his eyes and moved to stand next to the painting. "Smile Sherlock!" John grinned and took a quick picture on his phone. X The two men sat watching the sunset on the edge of the Trocadero fountain, soft music gently danced through the air from a small set of speakers Sherlock had somehow acquired. "This is nice," John murmured leaning his head on Sherlock's shoulder. "Mmmm," Sherlock hummed in response, "Dance with me John." "You know I don't dance." "Just follow my lead." Sherlock replied, gently pulling John up and swaying with him gently. "You smell nice," John murmured into Sherlock's chest. "Don't get too comfortable, I need to ask you something." "Ask me something? Everything is ok isn't it?" John asked, pulling away and immediately assuming the worst. "Everything is fine. I promise," Sherlock replied, leaning down to press a quick kiss to John's lips, "Stop panicking and don't speak until I'm done ok?" John nodded and widened his eyes slightly as he watched Sherlock to sink onto one knee. "This is traditional is it not?" Sherlock asked waiting for a nod from John, "I love you and you know me, I don't like change very much so I'm not going to give you up. I'm fairly sure you love me, else you wouldn't put up with me shooting holes in our walls and making terrible tea and worse coffee and leaving experiments in our fridge and keeping you up at night playing compositions on the violin and just generally driving you insane. I love you and intend on doing so forever. So with that in mind, will you, John Watson, love of my life, marry me and make me happier than I already am?" John stood in stunned silence for a second, "Yes," he grinned, "I was wondering when you were going to ask," "What?" Sherlock asked standing up and fishing a ring out of his pocket. "I found the ring in our room a few weeks ago, it's beautiful by the way." John smiled and went to pull Sherlock into a warm embrace, accidentally knocking the ring into the fountain. "Shit," Sherlock cursed and immediately jumped in the fountain after the ring, "Got it!" He called seconds later with a slightly goofy grin, waist deep in water and completely soaking. John laughed and climbed over the edge to meet him. "Idiot," "That's why you love me," Sherlock replied, taking John's hand and sliding the little white-gold band onto his finger. "We're going to get yelled at." John grinned, but not bothering to move from the fountain. "So let's make the most of it," Sherlock grinned back and grabbed John's hand and ran through the fountain. "You massive child," John laughed breathlessly, falling onto Sherlock and accidentally pushing him into the water, "Woops!" He exclaimed, now soaking wet. Sherlock stood up and brushed his hair out of his eyes "Let's go back to the hotel before we catch colds." He chuckled. 


End file.
